


Keep Bleeding (You Cut Me Open)

by misura



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder, Temporary Character Death, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "I would like to make you a proposal."





	

An ordinary killer may linger at the scene of the crime for any number of reasons. To remove evidence, for one. To ensure that his victim is, in fact, a victim rather than a future witness or simply an inconveneit survivor who will never again agree to meet them alone.

A less than ordinary killer may wish to admire his (or her) work. To forever imprint upon their memory this moment, this triumph. Something to lift their spirits in the long years to come.

Adam, of course, is a class of killer all by himself.

When he lingers, as Henry sees him do, time and again, it's not to clear up evidence or to make sure of his victim. It's not to take a mental snapshot of a scene that will never again occur. (It will occur again. And again. And again.)

When Adam lingers, it's because he's looking for something.

 

"Well, if you really want to know, you could always just ask," Abe says, turning to the sports page of the newspaper.

There's a piece of perfect toast on Henry's plate and a jar of delicious marmalade standing at the ready, acquired at something called a 'farmer's market' last week. (It's not that Henry's unacquainted with either term, but the combination of the two and its actual meaning bemused him.)

"A very reasonable suggestion. Would it be best to do that be before or _after_ he starts cutting pieces off of me?"

Abe looks up, expression indignant. "Hey now, do you mind? I'm eating here."

Henry grimaces. There are times when he feels Abe's attitude towards this whole Adam serial-killing him thing is a bit too cavalier.

There are also times when he's grateful Abe's handling this so well, that Abe seems to have accepted that this is something strictly between Henry and Adam.

"I mean, do the two of you talk at all these days? Or is it just, you know, stab, stab, kill?"

Henry butters his toast. He likes breakfast. It's the one meal of the day that he never misses. Anywhere else, he needs to keep an eye out for Adam, but right here, at home, he's safe.

Of course, he's only safe as long as Adam doesn't change the rules on him.

"Call me petty, but I refuse to talk to someone who insists on killing me every time we meet."

Abe puts down the newspaper. "I wouldn't call that 'petty'. I mean, it might not be very _smart_ , but petty? Heaven forbid. More tea?"

 

It's hard to have a proper conversation with someone when your tranchea's in less than optimal condition. Henry gives it a go anyway - for Abe.

"Beg pardon, were you trying to say something?" Adam's expression is too smug, too self-satisfied. Like that of a man who's finally, finally getting what he's been after all along.

Henry makes his mouth shape the word 'why'. Surely, Adam's lived long enough to pick up the art of reading lips.

"Why?" Adam chuckles. "Why, Henry. I thought you'd be pleased. I mean, it's perfect, isn't it? I told you, I enjoy killing people. You, for whatever reason, do not. Just think, every time I kill you, I'm _not_ killing someone else. Someone who wouldn't actually survive the experience."

Henry mouths the words 'you are insane'.

Adam sighs. "Language. What's wrong? Bad day at work? Should I have a word with your colleagues? Maybe make their day a bit more exciting by sending you a mystery package? You had fun with that, didn't you? Caught yourself a dangerous criminal. I could find you another, what do you say? A little game, to pass the time."

Henry moves his head to indicate a 'no'. He's not sure if it actually matters, not sure if anything he says here will make any impact at all. He can't not at least try, though.

"Oh, well. It was just a thought." Henry hears voices in the distance, calling out. Adam gets up, coming closer. "Well, this was fun. We should do this again. Soon. See you around, Henry. Enjoy your swim."

 

The only advantage to Adam's new hobby is that he's now as invested in keeping Henry's secret as Henry is. There are no more set-ups, or pictures sent to inquisivite people.

"So you found out his motive," Abe says, comfortably curled up on the couch. The TV is showing some sort of train, a commentator talking about its engine, its history. "That's progress right there, isn't it?"

"This isn't a murder investigation, Abe. I'm not trying to solve a crime here."

"I know that." Abe clears his throat. "Be a bit silly, wouldn't it? Investigating your own murder? Mind, you'd make a great witness. Apart from the bit where you're, you know, not dead, of course. I mean, can you imagine the looks on the faces of the jury?"

"I'm glad you are able to see the humor in the situation."

Abe rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, Henry. Don't you see? He's lonely. Sure, he's a psycho, but he's a lonely psycho, looking for a friend. And guess what? You're it."

"Did you somehow manage to miss the part where he keeps murdering me?"

"Meh." Abe waves this objection away. "Not like it ever sticks, is it? Just ... try and chat him up. Be polite, if you can't be friendly - which, fair enough."

"Say I 'chat him up', as you suggest. Then what?"

"Then you make nice and ask him to pretty please stop killing you. Tell him about your favorite scarf, you know the one. With the bloodstains that just would not come out."

Abe's always had a talent for reducing problems to mere nuisances. Sometimes, Henry knows, Abe has a point. Sometimes Henry needs someone to ground him.

"You mean that I tell him to start murdering other people again. Innocent, non-immortal people."

Abe scowls. "No. Of course I don't mean that. What do you take me for? Look, I told you, he's a psycho. Is that your fault? Were you the one who made him that way? No, you were not. Ergo, what he does or does not choose to do once you're rid of him is not your responsibility."

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Abe says. The images on the TV shift to picture of the British countryside. "Ask Jo, if you don't believe me."

 

With each death, there comes a moment when reason and logic and self-control give way.

It doesn't matter that Henry knows he will not truly die, that he will resurface, naked and whole. Right before the end, if he sees it coming, he'll feel stoicism give way to instinct, acceptance to resistance.

For one brief, fleeting moment, he'll feel mortal, and it will not be an experience he enjoys in the least.

There's a paradox there, of sorts. The man who is immortal seeks for ways to die and yet clings to life with the same desperation as anyone else when push comes to shove.

Henry wonders if Adam is the opposite: an immortal who wishes to personally experience each method of murder known to man, yet who would embrace his own death were someone to show him the way.

It's a pity that Henry is as lost as Adam is, in this one regard.

 

To arrange a conversation while still uninjured takes some trying. In the end, Henry only manages it by writing a note ('I want to talk') and carrying it around with him until the inevitable murder attempt.

Adam calls him the next day. "Henry. Glad to see you've decided to be a sport about this."

"Let's have dinner somewhere. Some place public and well-lit."

Adam chuckles. "Really, Henry. I'm hurt. After all this time, you still don't trust me?"

"Trust has nothing to do with it," Henry says. It's half-true: he trusts Adam not to want to risk exposing him by killing him in public. He trusts Adam to be curious enough to show up.

He trusts Adam to keep killing him in various and creative ways until he gets bored.

"If you say so. Time and place?"

Henry rattles off the information Abe's put down on a post-it.

"It's a date," Adam says, hanging up before Henry can point out in no uncertain terms that no, it isn't.

 

The evening ends poorly.

Henry isn't sure why he's surprised, why he allowed himself to imagine even for a moment that having dinner with Adam would result in anything other than his going for a night-swim.

Abe's still awake, more or less, curled up on the couch with a blanket when Henry gets home, wet and cold and in no mood for conversation.

 

"I enjoyed last night," Adam says.

Henry wonders why he isn't hanging up right now. "I'm afraid that I cannot claim the same."

A pause. "I meant dinner," Adam says. "Spending time with someone who knows me well enough not to bore me. Someone who understands."

"Oh, right. So you _didn't_ enjoy the part where I was dying of poison." Henry still hasn't identified it, although he's narrowed it down to a handful of possibilities.

Not that it matters the slightest. Like he told Abe: this isn't a murder investigation. Still, if there is any information to be gleaned from Adam's choice in poisons, Henry intends to possess it.

"You are very beautiful when you stop trying to control yourself," Adam says. "When you stop concerning yourself with what other people might think, or see, or feel. When you simply _are_. I cherish those moments with you, Henry. It's a pity they only occur when you are hurt, and dying."

There has to be a way to end this, Henry thinks. He's come up with one method already. True, as a permanent measure, it proved ineffective. Still, there must be others. He's spent lifetimes studying death; it's not like he can't afford to take a short break, spend a few decennia coming up with solutions for the problem of Adam.

If Henry asks the right way, Adam might even help. Some sort of arrangement might be possible, where Adam keeps killing him (and only him) and, in exchange, Henry gets to run his experiments.

Consensual murder is still murder, but then, it's not as if Henry can actually stop Adam from murdering him. He could run and hide, with or without Abe, and sooner or later, Adam would find him.

"Henry? Are you still there?"

From a certain point of view, it might even be smart. Make the most of a poor situation. Put a silver lining on the dark cloud that's hanging over his life. Endure. Have patience, and faith that things will improve.

"I'm still here," Henry says. "I would like to make you a proposal."

"I'm listening," Adam says.

 

Abe glares. It's heartening, in a way. Henry reminds himself that it's also dangerous.

"What's the meaning of this? Henry, you want me to get my shotgun?"

Adam looks faintly amused. Henry refuses to recall Abe, calling him lonely. Someone who kills people for the pleasure of watching them die has no one but himself to blame for not having any friends or family members to have breakfast with.

"Abe, Adam. Adam, Abe." There are only two pieces of toast, and one of them's Abe's.

"We've met," Adam says.

"If you think I'm going to say 'thank you' for helping me get in touch with my family again, you've got another think coming." Abe gets himself a plate, sits down and helps himself to a piece of toast. "So what's the story here, then?"

"Adam and I have come to an ... agreement of sorts," Henry says. He feels Adam watching him as he takes the other piece of toast. "He'll be staying with us for a while."

"A while, huh?" Abe takes a bite of his toast. "Dare I hope this agreement also has a monetary component? I'm not running a hotel here, you know."

"Only if you were planning on feeding me," Adam says. "Assuming for the moment that such is the case, sure, I'll buy the groceries every once in a while. My pleasure."

Abe shoots Henry a look that questioned his sanity in a very polite if none the less slightly hurtful way.

Henry sighs. "Let me get you a plate."

"You know, we've got some ground rules in this house about what is and isn't a proper topic to discuss during meals," Abe tells Adam. "Also, a very strict no murder policy. It's the carpet, you see."

"Abe!"

Abe lifts his hands. "All right, fine, it's not the carpet. I was just trying to give him a reason beyond the simple fact that murder is reprehensible and morally wrong."

"Out of consideration for the carpet, I'll be happy to limit my less agreeable activities to elsewhere."

"Good," Abe says. "Well, not 'good' good, but you know what I mean."

"Of course, an exception will be made for the basement." Henry sits down. There's bread; if Adam wants toast, he can make his own. There are limits to the hospitality due a serial killer, after all.

"Why, what's happening in the basement?" Abe asks.

"Murder most foul." Adam smirks a bit. "And possibly other things."

"Mostly other things, as a matter of fact," Henry says quickly. He has no intention of letting Adam kill him in his own home, with Abe right there. Never mind that rationally, he knows it doesn't matter.

As to him killing Adam - unlikely. If it happens, it will be an accident, a mistake, and hopefully not a permanent one.

"What, like sex?" Abe frowns. "Call me old-fashioned, but isn't it a bit quick to decide to move in together? You guys have been on what, one date?"

 

"You should know, I'm neither a necrophiliac nor a rapist," Adam says.

"Very reassuring." Henry isn't sure why this is something he should know.

Adam frowns at him. "It's a matter of taste, not morals. Also, if you've lived long enough, even something like sex becomes boring. Old and stale. At some point, you've simply seen and done it all."

"That has not been my experience, but you are free to your opinion," Henry says.

"Gracious of you." Adam chuckles. "Let me be gracious in return. If you're ever curious, I'd be more than happy to give you a demonstration of what I know. What I've done, and had done to me."

"Haven't you done enough demonstrating already?" Henry asks. There have been men he's felt sexually attracted to, both before and after Abigail. Some of them were considered handsome or beautiful by their contemporaries. Others less so.

Few of them were in a position where an affair might be pursued without a great amount of trouble and/or a requirement for secrecy.

"Perhaps I've had my fill of killing. For a while, at least. What do they say? Variety is the spice of life."

Henry wonders if he should break out the notebooks to point out all the ways Adam hasn't killed him yet. Then he wonders if this is how people start losing their sanity.

"I'm sure we can accommodate a lover, if you wish to pursue someone," he says, being sure of nothing of the kind. "Or make some alternate arrangement."

"I doubt that will prove necessary." Adam smiles. "Think about it, will you, Henry?"

 

("Look," Abe says. "Does the fact that now he wants to sleep with you instead of murder you make me feel any better? Well, if you must know, no, it does not. But. Is having a creepy psycho boyfriend who tries to act like a regular human being an improvement over having a creepy psycho stalker who wants to hold your hand while you die after he's killed you? Maybe. I don't know.")

("That's not very helpful.")

("Yeah, well, I wasn't trying to be. I'm just saying, if you're worried about his replacing Mom, don't be. Never going to happen. I don't care how great the sex is, once a psycho, always a psycho, and you're too good a person to go falling for someone like that.")


End file.
